Skyrim: The Brotherhood
by V0ID
Summary: After Astrid's betrayal, the Dark Brotherhood has been reduced to a shadow of its former glory. Can keeping the old ways and Sithis truly lead to a revival? Will a few new faces doom the Brotherhood or bring about its rebirth? And finally, does this sinister family truly have what it takes to become Skyrim's most feared organization? T for sexual themes and intense violence. 12/28
1. Homecoming

Skyrim: The Brotherhood

O==||::::::::::

Prologue

Dragonborn

Astrid did not belong among the ashes. The walls of the ancient cave were still warm from the fire when Festus Krex, Gabriella, Veezara and Arnbjorn had been returned to the earth, and their final resting places formed a neat row beside the silent Black Door. Vetoing the Listener's proposition Babette and Nazir thought a traitor unworthy to rest in peace and had left her charred corpse where she lay. But now, when the heavy snows of Frostfall had buried Astrid's tomb and secured it tight with ice, the Dragonborn finally set aside the deep wound of her betrayal. Standing before the abandoned cave he could only marvel at how well nature had protected it.

_This is the last thing I can do for you, friend._

He stood thigh-deep in the sparkling snow as the dragon words rolled off his tongue into a lengthy burst of fire. "**Yor Toor Shul**!"

The snow not only melted, but boiled in an instant to cause a jagged web of cracks to form across the icy barrier. The Drgonborn ceased his fiery assault and effortlessly punched through the remaining ice, revealing a rusted and already crumbling Black Door. Steeling himself against the inevitable flood of memories he gave it a hesitant push. The first thing he smelled upon entering was the musty stink of his bedraggled fur armor, but that was soon overpowered by the sickly sweet of burned flesh. He passed Astrid's room and entered the main chamber, still unable to process how much damage had been done. On that awful night all those weeks ago he hadn't been able to recognize his home as it burned, but now each and every column was painfully familiar. Now a tangled pile of corpses were fused to the ground where he'd been given his first contract, and Arnbjorn's forge was nothing but a pile of splinters and stone.

_ I came here for Astrid, not a walk down memory lane. It's already a bad idea to go near this place, and if I'm caught my association with the Dark Brotherhood will be discovered._

He retraced his steps back to the entryway and went into Astrid's old chambers to find the hidden room perfectly unchanged. Where the gruesome ritual had been performed in her last moments was still perfectly marked out on scorch-marked stone. Waxy puddles that used to be candle stumps surrounded the horrifically disfigured body of the former leader, which was still stretched out on the floor. He steeled himself and choked back the roiling bile that rose in his throat. With perfect clarity he could remember slashing her throat with the blade he still carried, and there was still a dark pink sliver on what he guessed was her neck.

Feeling shaky he retreated and removed the sheets from Astrid and Arnbjorn's bed. Trying not to look at her almost-nude form he delicately wrapped her decomposing body in the singed fabric. He would have buried her beside the word wall with hopes of the ancient magic protecting her from worms or…_something_, but the ground being too hard to excavate he simply lay Astrid's corpse on her bed. Observing his work, he felt that it would be incomplete without a goodbye. _Bo maffaeraak, Briinah. Rest forever, sister._

Eager to be gone of his former home the Dragonborn set a few traps around the entrance to protect it from those who may wish to desecrate it. And with one final glance over his should into the obfuscating gloom, the old sanctuary was closed for what he hoped would be eternity.

* * *

Chapter One- Homecoming

The snap of a bow cut the training room's silence as Mair loosed an arrow into the straw target. The initiate was almost ready to gain full membership status and become a servant of the Sithis, having mastered a weapon and observed many a contract be carried out. In the stiff chill of the Dawnstar Sanctuary she shivered under her rust coloured-robes even though her forehead was beaded with sweat. She was working hard to be as prepared as possible for the trial that awaited her in the near future.

"Good shot." The Dragonborn said from where he'd been watching her, but judging from the mountain of scrolls in his arms it hadn't been for long. "But real targets won't stand still when an arrow is shot at them. And in real life you'll definitely be shooting from more than ten yards away."

The Breton woman decided that she could get away with a bit of sauce. "Well, sir, then give me something farther away to shoot at. There isn't much room in this dank hole."

Carelessly letting the scrolls fall in a heap the Dragonborn reached for his dagger. "Very well. Where's Tharsten? He's coming too."

"Uh…." She eyed the evilly glowing steel with uncertainty. "I'm not sure….he left to buy more cabbage over an hour ago."

A shadow crossed the Dragonborn's face. They both knew that the other member in training, Tharsten, wouldn't skip training unless something was seriously wrong. He quickly grabbed the rest of his armor from the rickety wooden rack and beckoned for Mair to follow. "Bring the bow." He growled. "You're definitely going to need it."

Mair, sensing the urgency in his voice, nodded and did as he asked, slinging the elegant bow over her shoulder and stocking a quiver with her ten best arrows. They clambered up the stairs and stood against the heavy Black Door, Mair hoping they wouldn't find soldiers on the other side.

"Sir, should I go first?" Mair asked, almost succeeding to keep her voice steady.

"No. If the Penitus Oculatus is at our door, a strong melee fighter should lead the charge. If things go badly...run." The cool calculation in his voice made the Breton woman want to go first anyway. But before she could succumb to insubordination the Dragonborn kicked the door open to the frigid night.

Mair followed, her relief at finding nothing but the barren tundra turning to horror as she made out a shape on one of the nearby ice floes. Tharsten's form silhouetted against the starry sky…..and someone holding a long rapier across his throat.

"Come no closer or I'll kill him!" The figure shouted in an undoubtedly male voice.

The muscles in the Dragonborn's neck coiled as he seemed to prepare a dragon shout, but then he relaxed. "We shall honor your request. On what terms will you release our brother and be on your way?" His voice then fell to a whisper that was meant for only Mair to hear. "Looks like all that training will be coming in handy now. Take a good look, get behind me, and then prepare your shot."

"Yes Listener, I-" Mair began to say.

"Do it now or Tharsten is going to die!" He urged. She quickly took her position and aimed for the figure behind the hostage's shoulder.

The man stated his terms with confidence. "I want every Septim you have in that wretched Dark Sanctuary…and I want it now!"

"Then you shall have it!" The Dragonborn boomed. He cast a glance at Mair and waited for her reaction.

"Sir… shouldn't we just give him what he wants and then kill him later? This shot is going to be pretty risky." Mair almost pled, not believing in her skills.

"No, trust me. This man is desperate, and he knows about the Brotherhood….which means we probably took a contract that ended the life of someone he loved." The Dragonborn calmly explained. "If that is so, his objective is not really the gold, but to kill all of us. Now Mair, you _must _take the shot. It's all up to you."

"Y-yes sir…" She replied nodding. She then stepped behind the Dragonborn.

"What is the girl doing?" The man called.

"Be calm friend, she is merely going to get your gold. She will be back shortly." He replied, moving to block Mair from view as much as he could and relying on the darkness to do the rest. She readied an arrow and drew back the bowstring before dropping to a knee and making a few calculations in her head. She could no longer see her target clearly, and she needed to be quite sure of her shot or it would injure or kill her brother.

Finally, with almost complete certainty of where it would hit she released the arrow. Like a dark comet it traveled upwards and trailed through the air. A deep scream of agony told her the target had been hit, and Tharsten stumbled away from his captor.

"Great shot." The Dragonborn said, turning to help Mair to her feet. But as she looked at Tharsten's fallen captor, the crumpled man returned to his feet as if nothing had happened, the arrow apparently having only grazed him.

"He's still alive!" Mair shrieked. "Tharsten, run!"

Tharsten waded through the freezing water and gave a chattering laugh. "He's not a threat, Mair. It's Nazir."

The Dragonborn smirked at her bewilderment. "Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood as a full initiate, or should I say, Daughter of Sithis."

Her face split into an uncertain grin as the a dripping wet Nazit walked up beside Tharsten wearing a metal facemask and thick armor. "I'd damn well say she almost took out one of my eyes." Nazir said, his rich voice muffled through the mask.

"You trained her, friend; it's your own fault if you did it too well." The Dragonborn replied, not bothering to conceal his pride.

Tharsten added to the praise. "I'm just glad that she's a good enough shot not to have killed me if it was real." He scratched his whiskers. "It would've made me real sad that she didn't value my life that much."

The Listener proceeded with the ancient ritual and reverently sliced his palm to placed a hand print of blood on her pale cheek. "Welcome to the Dark Brotherhood."

"Ah, well, unfortunately that makes you my superior." Tharsten continued. "I'm still an initiate, so….Mair? What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

The blood glistened on her face as Mair mumbled to herself. "Oh… sorry… that was just… quite… unexpected…"

"I would imagine. Looks like the test was quite successful, eh brother?" Nazir rhetorically asked the Dragonborn.

"Very much so." He replied.

With a shiver Tharsten took off his belt, which was still soaking wet. "I hope that's not how my test goes."

"Don't worry; we wanted to test Mair just for this." Nazir said.

Mair seemed taken aback."Test me how? Did I do something wrong?"

"Of course not." Nazir soothed, in a honeyed voice that the ladies always liked . "I just wanted to see how well you acted under pressure. You didn't do so well in those sessions, but you already knew those were fake. There was nothing really at stake there."

"I get it…" Mair replied. Her face slowly returned to its normal colour.

"I found it quite fun to see you squirm, Mair." Tharsten chuckled. She suddenly lashed out with a fist and punched him in the shoulder, hard. He reeled a few steps and shot her a priceless look of such incredulity that she would make fun of him for the next month. "-the Hell?!"

"Agh! Men!" Mair said, throwing her hands in the air. "You're such idiots."

"I told you women were crazy." Nazir said to the Dragonborn, who rolled his eyes. "Really gotta watch what you say around them."

"I'm an Assassin now so I can do this!" Mair shouted to the heavens as she lunged at Nazir. "You're both jerks!" She turned to the Dragonborn, who wisely took a step back. But instead of attacking him she dipped her head respectfully. "Sir… Brother, thank you for accepting me."

He simply waved off her gratitude. "It was time for our family to grow…and welcome Sister, your first serious contract will be soon, I promise you."

She stalked back into the lair without another word.

"You're right sir…" Tharsten said to Nazir. "Women are crazy."

"Looks like another lesson has been taught." Nazir said dismissively, struggling to speak through his chattering teeth. "Now let's go back inside, we've wasted enough time with banter and the cold makes my beard curl."

If for less shallow reasons the Dragonborn agreed. "Nazir's right….there is business to be done."

* * *

Dear reader,

This story started out as a collaboration between Obrusnine and I after I came to him with my ideas. Things started out okay but then his misguided sense of superiority led him to spurn my opinions and treat me like a stupid noob. I tolerated this until he suddenly disappeared and currently shows no signs of coming back. Now I've published the story separately under my name, with the grammar mistakes he was too proud to fix corrected and a tremendous amount of detail and clarity added. My contributions are unaltered and his brought up to my standards. I'm sorry this didn't work out between us, but working with such a difficult person made this a chore and writing stories like this is supposed to be fun.

Enjoy, and may you always walk in the shadow of Sithis.

V0ID


	2. Snow Elf

Chapter Two- Snow Elf

The techniques that had been drilled into Britta were instantly forgotten, for the sturdy Dunmer's arm seemed to have a mind of its own. Her standard-issue sword slipped through the minuscule openings her enemies left in the deadly dance, slashing throats and piercing flesh. When the Stormcloak blue of her uniform was almost as red as the Imperials she desperately looked up to see if her brother Foryn had survived the initial onslaught. _A sensitive soul like him shouldn't even be here in the first place!_

The snowy walls of Fort Dunstad were dripping with fallen soldiers and stuffed with those who were still standing, but from her perspective she felt like she was in the peaceful eye of a storm. She scanned the few visible faces for Foryn's dark green skin, but was forced to turn her attention to a spear that just missed her breastplate.

_I asked Captain Tomas beforehand not to put him in the heat of things….he's a smart kid, and not too shabby with a short sword. He's __**got**__ to be fine._

The invading Stormcloaks' siege tactics had disintegrated into a roiling sea of one-on-one fights and the deafening clash of weapons raised her pulse a bit more. She itched to bump off a few of the Imperial reinforcements that were adding to the larger wall of red, but she focused on finding her brother and sending them to Sovngarde later. The thrilling symphony of war reached a crescendo as the tide shifted and fresh Imperial soldiers poured from the smashed keep, the remaining Stormcloaks taken completely by surprise.

She remembered something Galmor Stone-Fist had said …_all Stormcloaks are brothers and sisters, whether they are Ashlander or Nord. _Years ago the orphaned Dunmeri had been desperate for food and tried to steal from a caravan back when the rebel force was in its infancy, and instead of having their hands cut off he allowed Foryn to find work as a groom and Britta as a healer. But after a few skirmishes with the rising Imperials Britta found that she was better at inflicting wounds than healing them. At the tender age of sixteen she became the first Dark elf join the Stormcloak ranks.

With one wistful glance at where Foryn's squad of archers had been stationed she let herself be immersed in the thrum of bowstrings, screams of the dying and the crack of sword on shield. She was a hurricane of steel with no regard for who fell to her blade and she may have even killed a few of her own side in the frenzy. When a clump of Imperials descended upon her Captain Tomas' shout captured her attention.

"There's too many! Get the hell out of here!" He yelled, and out of her haze she noticed that the only Stormcloaks around her were dead. Tomas didn't pause as the last man beside him fell and shamelessly ran pell-mell towards the South Gate. Torn between her honor, protecting Foryn and will to survive Britta had no choice but to follow him, occasionally slipping in the bloody slush and carnage.

The men and women whom she'd nursed back to health, drank and trained with lay behind. Though few faces were recognizable she recognized the woman who'd shared all her knowledge about herbs and the man who'd trade his sweetroll for a kiss. Treating wounds and easing those who were beyond saving had taught her the horrors of war, _but aren't I just as bad as the ones who did this to them? _ Now that the mindless haze was fading her apathy was beginning to scare her.

A few Imperials lazily shot arrows at her with the urgency of swatting a fly and exhausted as she was the adrenaline still allowed her to lug thirty pounds of armor a few meters beyond the gate. A few paces ahead Captain Tomas fell with a cry. The arrow protruding from his calf destroyed all of his hope for escape and Britta paused.

"Britta.." He wheezed , sweat and possibly tears trickling down sunburned his face. "I secretly gave orders…told Foryn's squad to get in through a back entrance. They couldn't find it and….he's still alive. Waiting for you. I have to show you…where"

She was ecstatic at the thought of seeing her baby brother again and had no choice but to toss her gore-spattered helmet and shield into a snow bank and wordlessly hoist him into an awkward piggy back. Considering words a wasted effort Britta merely grunted, but though she was now lugging a full grown man she felt weightless with relief.

"Now I can be your shield." Tomas gave a wheezy laugh. "Though they don't seem to be shooting at us anymore."

The Imperials weren't shooting arrows at them anymore indeed, but instead they were laughing shouting taunts over the walls until they were too far away to hear.

_I wonder if Foryn will laugh when he sees us like this. I told him that his big sister could do anything, and now he'll finally believe me. _The grim line that her mouth was set into twitched with humor._ This could even be a teachable moment. Look how strong you get when you eat every vegetable on the plate and put in that extra hour of training._

Britta gritted her teeth and managed to carry him until the fort was the size of her thumbnail and then unceremoniously dumped her captain onto a log. He silently watched as she crumpled into a heap of quivering muscles and wiped the foam from her chin before it froze. She didn't even have enough energy left for the most basic of healing spells, and watched as her Nord captain casted a few simple ones over his own wounds first. Now she was beginning to feel the damage she'd taken…..a few broken ribs maybe, and a cut on her forearm. It took a while for the bloodlust of battle to fade, and only then did she feel any of the pain.

"Foryn." She gasped. "Where…"

Tomas gave her shoulder a pat and the relief of the magic seeping into her was too much….she let out the softest of sighs.

"That's about it." He said, studying his calloused palm. "Should have listened more closely to those fusty old mages."

"Foryn, my brother!" Britta spoke properly now. "You said he was alive. Where is he? How did he escape?"

With a sad look her captain began examining the arrow in his calf. "I'm afraid that I may have embellished the truth. You see, he was struck down seconds after I gave the order to retreat. He died serving the Stormcloaks, an honorable death."

The sickening weight of the truth took her a second to comprehend. "You…you told me that so I'd carry you." She hissed, the quiet words unable to express her fury…..and anguish. It was deeper than any wound she'd ever sustained, a doubled-bladed axe tearing out her gut, a dozen swords twisting away at her heart…

"Well-"

"I should kill you!" The infuriated shout startled a flock of birds from their evening roost. Captain Tomas didn't react, simply watching her with pensive pity. Tears were beginning to sting her amber eyes. "I should kill you…" She said, more to herself this time. They **had** just come from a battle…._this would be no different._ Though he was not a faceless soldier but instead then man who had transformed her from a feisty refugee into the warrior she was now_. A superior, a mentor…..who'd used Foryn's life as a devious lure to save his own. _

Her mind was made up and in one liquid motion Britta grasped the arrow shaft firmly in her weary hands and tugged it from his muscle, attempting to slash his throat with the arrowhead. She didn't think…it was simply the haze telling her to eliminate another victim.

But Captain Tomas didn't earn his position chasing butterflies and like a cat the experienced soldier nimbly dodged her and rolled into the snow.

"Lieutenant Yentimilal, drop your sword at once! Don't make another move!" Tomas roared.

Britta was breathing hard; opaque clouds streamed from her mouth and into the cold air. They simply looked each other for a few moments until she dropped both of her weapons. Ignoring the protests of her joints she fell to her knees and began to howl into the snow.

_It's good that the only things around are trees, birds, and the gods as my witnesses. Such a display is not befitting of a Stormcloak._

Captain Tomas had been inching over the whole time and bent to pick up her sword. At that moment Britta forgot her grief and beat him to it, deftly ramming the frosty blade under his ribs. And though this time it was not a catastrophe of ash and fire, for the second time in her life Britta had lost her family.

* * *

This is the last of the stuff you've already seen if you read the original story. I hardly got any sleep this week because I was too busy coming up with this story in my head...*is excited*


	3. Family

Chapter Three-Family

Doran

A Nord was crouched in the wiry underbrush, his ice-blue eyes trained on an unsuspecting elk. How his wife Dana would love a new blanket made from its supple hide, and the meat…Doran Swift-Arrow's mouth began to water. But killing the animal would be stealing from Lord Barrid of Kynesgrove, who punished poachers by removing their right hand. Even if his subjects were desperate enough to kill take animals there was little to hunt in the scrubby wasteland, so little that if Doran wanted to bring anything home at all he had to go south. The little coven of witches that had made their home in the forest successfully kept away any of the Lord's men or any other poacher who would provide contest.

A quick swig of watered-down brandy chased the cold from his extremities and he reached for the bow at his hip. The beast before him was small and he was sure he could bring it down with a single arrow. _Wouldn't want a messy kill….those damn witches would notice a blood trail and a chase would take too long. _Dana expected him to be gone for three days and the last was almost over. He adjusted the trajectory of his aim slightly upward and over to the right, making sure to observe and low hanging branches that might interfere with his shot then finally released the arrow. It soared through the trees for a few seconds before burying itself in the animal's leg, causing the beast to give a slight screech of terror and pain. As it stood up to flee Doran leapt from his hiding spot and stabbed wildly at its chestnut flank.

"I apologise my friend, but it is as it must be." Doran murmured as the elk's majestic legs folded underneath it. Rivulets of musky blood stained the snow and he raised his knife to cleanly slit the animal's throat. _This hide could've fetched a good price, it's too bad I can't sell it. _He withdrew his knife and his arrow and began making preparations to skin the beast before cutting off as much meat as he could carry in his bag. It was dirty work and in the end he was covered in blood up to his elbows, but he had made his kill and now his wife and their two children would eat well for a month if they were it was cold the meat might begin to rot within the next morning, so he withdrew a bottle of salt from his pocket and sprinkled it over the meat to keep it fresh over the six hour walk. Finally he packed his burden into a leather satchel and slung it over his shoulder, unstrung his bow and headed home.

* * *

Except for briefly napping at the base of an ancient pine he walked the whole night, eager to see his children and have a home-cooked meal. The stars were just beginning to fade when he spotted their snug cabin at the edge of town. He and Dana had both come from poor families yet successfully scratched out a decent living, helped by his illegal foraging and hunting in Lord Barrid's lands. His daughter Laure was seven and his son Martin five, and they were the best things that had ever happened to Doran. _And even if it means breaking the law, I will do anything to keep them from starving._ He spotted Laure's tiny figure feeding chickens beside the vegetable garden and the lines on his face deepened as he smiled. Ignoring the ache in his joints he hurried to meet his daughter and unable to help himself he guffawed as Laure ran to him as fast as she could.

"Pa!" She cried as he whirled her in the air with some difficulty. "I missed you!"

"Me too, Laure…." Doran murmured into her soft brown hair. "Thank you for helping out your mother with the chores."

The little girl wriggled out of his hug. "I'll tell her you're home!"

"No, wait-" He was too late, for Laure had already wrenched their painted green door open with a bang.

"He's home he's home he's home!" She ran flung open the doors that sectioned off his and Dana's bed. "He's home!"

Doran set his satchel on the table and realized it was too late to keep Dana from being disturbed, as Martin had joined his sister in bringing the news of his return.

"Pa's home!" Martin shrieked as he jumped on his sleeping mother.

"Well look at you two little scoundrels!" Doran laughed. "What would've happened if a monster had come and I wasn't there to save you?"

"There are monsters around here?" Lauren asked, worry contorting her face.

Dana chose this moment to wake up. "Doran…" She sat up in bed, crumpled waves of sandy hair spilling down her shoulders.

Something squeezed in his chest. "Good morning, beautiful one." He gave a grand bow and grinning as he went to her bedside, giving his wife a lingering kiss. Martin and Laure made sounds of disgust and tried to pull their father away by his arms.

"Pa." Laure urgently whispered. "What kind of monsters are there?"

Martin adopted a fighting stance. "I can fight the monsters!"

Doran patted the boy's head. "Not yet son, but one day you'll be big and strong just like your pa and then you can fight monsters easy." He turned to Laure. "There's nothing to worry about, darling. Why don't you make us some breakfast? Martin can finish with the chickens and then we can all eat together."

When both of the children scampered away Dana got out of bed. "How much did you bring in?" She asked, still in her underclothes. There was a certain roundness to her midsection under the thick fabric, and Doran was struck with the possibility that a third child might be on the way. As much as he adored children the thought worried him; he was nearing his silver years, and Dana was older than most women who had successful pregnancies….._If it's true then she'll tell me when she's ready._

"Enough." Doran replied.

"It's always just enough isn't it…?" She said, surveying their Spartan home.

"I'm sorry love, it's the best I can do." He replied with a frown.

"I know… I'm sorry to sound so unappreciative." Dana began to put on a heavy woolen dress. "It's just… our children are suffering because of this bastard… I'm starting to think we should never have stayed here."

He placed a hand on her waist and slowly traced to her shoulder before withdrawing it. "You seem to forget that it was just as bad before."

"Yes, but at least then I could fight back…" She replied. "Here, I can do nothing but wait… and hope."

Doran shook himself. "This is not the time to speak of this." He said. "I have returned home, and would like some lighthearted time with my family."

"Oh yes, I can see you are exhausted." Dana walked into the kitchen and helped Laure lift the heavy kettle. "Now, come and eat with us."

"Thank you…" Doran said, making a grab for his son as soon as the little boy dashed in the door.

Laure set a few plates of gruel upon the stained table. "It's gonna get cold soon!" She announced to her family. Everybody pulled up a chair and sat down to the intolerably bland food. But Doran didn't care, and it actually tasted good when he was surrounded by the ones he loved.

* * *

For best results, read while listening to White Hinterland's A Beast Washed Ashore


	4. Coven

Chapter Four- Coven

About a dozen scraps of parchment lay across the table, ranging from lengthy pleas to simply a name and address. Mair had dutifully recorded the Night Mother's words as relayed by the Listener, and was finally finished sorting through them all. She loved planning the long expeditions that each contract required and couldn't wait to get started on her first real contract. Long nights did eventually wear on her, but nothing could replace the satisfaction of serving her family and the Dread Lord.

Her thoughts trailing, she noticed a buildup of grime under her nails and with a grimace of distaste began to clean them, her dagger picking away when Tharsten emerged from the torture chamber.

"In my experience, Bretons have always been a tough nut to crack." He said loudly, startling her so the blade sliced one of her fingers.

Her yelp was more out of annoyance than pain. "Ow!"

But that was enough to make Tharstensmile. "An assassin who's afraid of a little blood?"

"It hurt! And yes, we are pretty tough." She smiled as to show no offence was taken. "If you're finished with attending to our guests, could you help me with these figures?" A tangle of clumsy numbers were scrawled across a sheet she was presumably using to keep a financial records.

Having learned his numbers as an apprentice Tharsten agreed. "Of course."

Nazir emerged from the shadows, smirking. "Good luck trying to make sense of Babette's records."

Tharsten wiped his bloody hands on his already crimson robes and picked up the quill. He didn't see anything good, for the cost of the Brotherhood's initial move-in plus food and upkeep had already plunged them into debt. The ten contracts that Mair had been looking over would only put a dent in the red numbers, and each kill took at least a few days to carry out.

"I'm still not sure how we should deal with the contracts that come in while out Listener is away." Said Nazir as he watched the Nord take a seat by Mair.

"It's a shame that he has to be off saving the world." Mair answered. "But I like how when he returns, he always has some good stories to tell. I'm getting sick of what you lot have to say."

Tharsten set down the quill and made to smack her on the head. But unfortunately for him she ducked to the left, appearing to fall out of her chair but instead using the momentum to hurl herself into a one-handed handstand. Nazir made a sound of distaste at her impressive display of athleticism.

"Last time we had a jester in the Brotherhood-"

"I'm not a jester. I'm an acrobat." Mair snapped, wiggling her feet in the air. "Or at least….I was." Only Nazir knew about that messy incident, and she never intended to tell anyone else.

Babette turned around from where she was stoically stirring gruel or one of her concoctions over the fire. "You're nothing like Cicero. If you were… I don't think the Brotherhood would survive another schism."

The whole family quieted, the playful atmosphere dampened by her input. Ever since the fire the vampire girl was more withdrawn than before and spent days at a time collecting ingredients in the wilds. Though she had witnessed the purification of Cheydinhal, this branch of the Brotherhood's cleansing by fire had shaken her trust even more deeply. She clicked her heels together and wiped her tiny hands on the greasy dress she always wore. "Well, that's the last of my snowberries."

Without another word she lifted her black cloak from it's peg and swept up the stairs with disconcerting speed.

"Wait!" Mair called after the vampire, lowering herself to the ground. "Please buy me some flavored ice if you stop by Dawnstar."

Tharsten made a face at Nazir. "See?! That's why we're strapped for cash!" He pointed to a few marks on the parchment. "Food is more than twice the cost of upkeep."

"Well, I do enjoy my Cyrodilic brandy." the Redguard said. "But nothing can replace the heat of Hammerfell."

His family allowed him a few misty-eyed seconds and continued with their discussion.

"The Listener even spoke of adding to out family." Continued Tharsten. "We have to cut back."

Mair swiped a wax-spattered letter from the table and de-railed the conversation. "Dibs on the corrupted soldier! And the rapist in Markarth!" Her eyes sparkled. "Nazir, should I search the jails for potentials recruits?"

"Leave it to me." The Redguard answered. "And we're not interested in common murderers...Dark Brothers and Sisters have to have a penchant for killing. Only the most brutal, cunning and bloodthirsty are worth our attention."

Mair landed a cuff on Tharsten's shoulder. "And also the most stingy."

Tharsten ignored her and laughed knowingly. "Thanks,** Nazir**."

Though it was but a rough chortle, it was good to have laughter in the Sanctuary again for then it truly seemed like a home.

* * *

This short chappy is all in preparation for the epic next one that I've been mulling over for a few months. And this took so long because *** ALWAYS disconnects on me. ALWAYS.


	5. Red Day

Chapter Five- Red Day

Britta

Eddies of reeking ash swirled around Britta's blistered feet and she felt Foryn bury his face into her neck. Without warning she dropped his considerable weight into the greyish drifts that seemed to cover all of Morrowind. _Does that make everyone an Ashlander now?_ In the weak light she could hardly see the uniformly grey, ragged shapes of survivors milling about in aimless directions. Their lack of purpose angered her, for her whole life she had done as her elders said and now that they were buried under tonnes of rock. _I can't follow behind anyone anymore._

Today had started like any other day: the entire Yentimilal clan had traveled from their scattering of yurts to make their annual visit to the shrines of Ald'ruhn. The last thing she remembered was being separated from the main group of children and her grandmother, Ma Shara. _That's it... Foryn saw a funny-looking Redguard and went to go get a closer look. I didn't want to be late for the service and ran after him. Then the sky was on fire and people starting screaming that the temple was collapsing. _A few smoldering debris added their meager light to the perpetual twilight, making everything seem like a dream, or nightmare. The young elf furrowed her brow as the harsh wind raked her eyes.

It had taken a few days after the eruption of Vvardenfell for her to fully remember everything, and even at her current age her childhood memories were a bit patchy. From the fetid floor of her cell she blinked, checking to make sure she was not wearing the Kagouti hide and silk robes she had worn as a child. It seemed like moments ago she had been sitting in the yurt and listening to a lesson about herbs...The bandit in the cell to her left sobbed from a rotting leg that was slowly killing him. She thought of offering to heal his wound, but decided against it because of the guards who watched them. As she lay in her itchy cot she noticed how the current one's gaze lingered over her, and she felt the sticky remains of her breakfast in her throat. _What do they want with me? I don't have any special information or know the Stormcloaks' next move...I guess this is better than being killed._ Her stomach turned as the bandit emptied his and the stench of sick filled the air.

The rattling clank of armor brought her attention to the man who had just entered. He was holding her damaged Stormcloak armor and threw to the ground as if it had burned him.

"Where's this pretty prisoner girl I heard about?!" He barked at the the guard who was currently staring her down.

"Sir! Uh, that one, sir. Does Cap'n want 'er yet?"

The man gave her a measured glare. "Yes. My orders were to take her to him."

Though being treated like a disposable whore was one of her worst fears she allowed her hands to be shackled and was led from the dingy gloom to an equally dirty built-on tavern of some sort, called the Stumbling Sabrecat.

"The captain will see you shortly." He leered, and their arrival was met with loud cheers and Britta sorely hoped she wouldn't get passed around before being dragged before the captain. Sweaty hands pulled at her shoulder-length black hair and attempted to flip up the burlap of her skirt but luckily she was marched straight towards the stairs. After dragging her up the narrow flight the soldier rapped on a stained wooden door.

"Captain Reinhardt, sir. I brought the girl."

When the captain opened the door his face was flushed from the tankard of mead in his hand and there were a few empty bottles scattered on the floor. She considered spitting in his face but decided to play at being a meek little mouse and not show any of her loathing for him. Her escort placed his hand firmly on her behind and gave her a rough shove into the room, locking the door behind him. To keep him from getting the satisfaction of seeing her fury, she looked down at her handcuffs.

This seemed to amuse the captain and he drunkenly began to laugh. "I saw you fighting...did you really think I would leave your hands free?" He set down the bottle of mead on the windowsill and walked over to her, not caring that Britta cringed as he slid a hand around waist. He plucked at her frayed neckline with his other hand. "I wanna see if elf girls are the same under this. "

"Don't…" Britta whispered, struggling to keep calm even though this was all part of the plan. The captain _was_ a big man and she was so, so tired…..

Reinhardt laughed even harder, and broke off into a sputtering cough. He sized her up for a moment and with the delicacy of a farmer wrangling a sheep he slung Britta onto the smelly mess of furs. Britta watched with wavering resolve as he fumbled to remove his hauberk and breeches until he was in his underclothes. Steeling herself, she let him lie beside her and put his sweaty hands down the top of her sack. He was so close she could smell the mead on his breath and gagged at the stench, nearly vomiting when he started to roughly kiss her face.

When one of his hands began to untie his loincloth she knew it was time.

With the speed of a striking snake she wrapped the dangling chain of her restraints around his neck and crossing her arms gave a mighty yank, successfully cutting off his air. His ruddy face reddened even more and she watched with immense satisfaction as it slowly turned purple. He weakly pawed at her arms until at last the life faded from his eyes. Britta realized that she had been pulling the cuffs so tight that they'd dug angry grooves into her wrists, but she didn't care. Beginning to feel her exhaustion she stepped away from the bed and dragged him onto the floor with a thump.

"Cap'n!" Came an immediate shout from behind the door. "Are you alright? You're not having too much fun in there, are you?"

Knowing she had to move fast Britta didn't hesitate to rip the beer-stained sabre cat skin from the mantle and tied it with a knot at her throat. She then raced to the window and peered out into the night, finding that sure enough the window looked out past the fort's walls and had nothing dangerous below it. Her raggedy prisoners garb flapping in the wind she hurled herself out the window and peered up at the sky. As fuchsia and green curtains of light meandered across the star-speckled canvas of sky, she imagined not hitting the ground but instead floating up to touch the radiant aurora. Her reverie was instantly broken as she made a jarring impact with the snow-laden ground, and it took every fiber of her being to not scream as she **felt** an audible snap in her left leg. The skin of her face pinched into tight bunches as she silently screamed with pain and her teeth cruelly gnashed down on her tongue in an effort to stay quiet. She was stunned for a moment, and the snow was so cold that it almost seemed to burn.

The wispy threads of magenta and green continued their ethereal dance in the sky above Fort Dunstad. It was a sign._ Boethiah must take pleasure when I kill._

The leg she had landed on was bent at a weird angle and was probably broken. Knowing she didn't have enough energy or time for even a tiny healing spell she tested her weight….._yep, it's broken._ Blinded by panic she began to steadily drag herself and the hindering fur coat through the snow.

_I deserve this. For letting Foryn leave my sight, for stealing from that Stormcloak wagon... _she had once been in a similar position, pathetically crawling through the snow. Foryn tugged at her ragged sleeve whining about how his stomach hurt, and how she couldn't sleep now. Something gold and misshapen was still around her neck and _we can buy food with it. _

"I hurts..." she whispered as Foryn begged her to get up. "Not now." Using the last reserves of her energy she managed to lurch a few more feet into a copse of scraggly trees before collapsing, her bright amber eyes reflecting a moon she could not see.

* * *

Author's Note: After finishing this chapter I realized that The Red Year was almost a century ago, and though I want to keep this as accurate as possible the date was very unclear. So there. :) And though my main Skyrim character is the most gorgeous Altmer you've ever seen I still love me my Dunmer.


End file.
